


Coal Hill Academy's School Bulletin Radio

by crocs



Category: Class (TV 2016), Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Sarah Jane Adventures, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Aliens, Gen, Inspired by Welcome to Night Vale, POV Outsider, Welcome to Night Vale News Program Format, greggs, invisible year eights, the format of wtnv... but with coal hill, your mum jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-29 02:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12072459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crocs/pseuds/crocs
Summary: 'A new teacher is being hired! We welcome Mr. Jónsson to our little family, who will be Head of Maths in the new term. Miss Slater, who is Right Arm of Maths currently, will be Mr. Jónsson’s Right Hand woman in the spring. Mr. Weaver will take her place. Mr. Weaver is currently orbiting Solarion Delta 5 in the W’er Galaxy, frozen and very likely dead due to the lack of oxygen.Mr. Jónsson – welcome!'In which Sky Smith, now a Sixth Former at Coal Hill, hosts a bi-weekly School Radio program over the intercom.





	Coal Hill Academy's School Bulletin Radio

 

A school sitting on a gap between dimensions, where yesterday is the future, today is the past, and tomorrow is a gift – that’s why we call it the present.

Welcome to Coal Hill.

* * *

 

Good morning, listeners. To start the day, I’ve been asked by the Governors to read this short notice:

'Ms. Ames will be pleased to announce a new coach for the netball team on Wednesday. We’re all on tenterhooks waiting for the information to be revealed – including the old netball coach herself, who has been following this particular news story for weeks now. Wednesday could not come soon enough.'

Which Wednesday?

Last Wednesday.

You didn’t hear?

Oh, well.

And now, the news.

* * *

 

My good mate, Clyde Langer, is claiming that the Man In The Blue Box came to visit the other week. Said that he materialized in his flat nattering on about how the coffee on Vel Consadine was **nothing** compared to the Nescafe Instant that I know Clyde’s got stashed at the back of the cupboard which I’m not supposed to go in. Then he said that I shouldn’t know about that. Then he got really embarrassed, and told me to forget it. What am I supposed to forget? I don’t know. The Man In The Blue Box, from what I’m told, doesn’t know either.

A new teacher is being hired! We welcome Mr. Jónsson to our little family, who will be Head of Maths in the new term. Miss Slater, who is Right Arm of Maths currently, will be Mr. Jónsson’s Right Hand woman in the spring. Mr. Weaver will take her place. Mr. Weaver is currently orbiting Solarion Delta 5 in the W’er Galaxy, frozen and very likely dead due to the lack of oxygen.

Mr. Jónsson – welcome!

* * *

 

A reminder to all those thinking of doing your Duke of Edinburgh Silver Award – the Expedition part of the Award, which will be carried out at Brecon Beacons, has a total mortality rate of 20%. That’s amazing, and don’t let anyone, especially not the students at our sister school, Park Vale, tell you otherwise.

 _That’s ridiculous!_ _That’s very very high!_ They might say. If they do, report them to Miss Quill. She knows what to do.

This statistic was compiled from the past two years of Expeditions, because when I compiled the rate for all of the years it’s been offered I got told off by Torchwood _and_ UNIT! I hate UNIT. Well, everyone but Martha, and Kate, and Mickey, and –

Oh. Dear listeners, I’m getting some very weird looks from my co-host, Aiden.

Yes, Aiden?

What?

I – oh, alright then.

Aiden has asked me to tell you that my good mate, Clyde Langer, has phoned in. Apparently the Man In The Blue Box has come back. Apparently, now, _s_ _he_ has a different face. Aiden says that he didn’t seem very surprised by this. Aiden says that I shouldn’t be hogging the in-school intercom because he can’t get a word in edgeways. Well, Aiden, now you have. I’ve told the listeners exactly what you think.

What do you mean it doesn’t work like that?

Hey, _come back here!_

Dear listeners, I don’t know if the mic picked up any of that nonsense, including the slammed door and the death glares, which, if they were really death glares, Aiden, you would be a member of the G’ranolosiyjk race, and you’d have lasers for eyes, and five eyebrows. Try harder next time.

_Honestly._

* * *

 

Congratulations to Ram Singh and the rest of the football team for representing us at this year’s Junior Football Championships! We all rooted for you. It was very tiring. The match lasted 14 days, give or take, and we did lose, but it was very close.

 _Ah,_ football.

The grass beneath your feet.

The goal right in front of you.

The hovering knives twirling in the air, lilac flames towering into the sky.

 _Ah,_ football.

My good mate, Clyde Langer, is texting me. I don’t think he knows we’re in the middle of the show. It would be very unprofessional of me to respond. It would be even more unprofessional of me to not update you on the story.

‘ _SKY!’_ he texts. _‘CALL ME! THE DOCTOR THINKS THE HIPSTER THAT LIVES IN THE DOWNSTAIRS FLAT IS ACTUALLY A TIME-TRAVELER FROM THE 1950S!’_

Well, I have one thing to say to you about that, Clyde – Speaking in all-caps is very bad text etiquette. You shouldn’t do it. It’s actually quite rude. I feel a bit hurt.

* * *

 

In other news; break out the balloons, everyone. It’s the 144 th  anniversary of Coal Hill Academy this week! The timetable for celebration goes as follows:

 **Monday:** A night of singing from the Senior and Junior Choirs. Bring your loved ones. Bring your mortal enemies. Entry is £5 a head, and £7 per leg. And for Preston, the immature kid that sits behind me in A Level English and keeps on telling Your Mum jokes whenever I open my mouth, entry for you is 50p because your mum’s so poor, when she goes to the park, the pigeons throw her bread. So there.

 **Tuesday:** Afternoon tea served on the Quad. Basketball, also on the Quad.

 **Wednesday** has been canceled due to scheduling errors.

 **Thursday:** A TED talk will be hosted at the school. We haven’t booked anyone yet, but since our school sits neatly on a tear between space-time, and also Shoreditch, the Governors are hoping that something interesting will fall through. Hopefully with a working 21 st  century knowledge of technology, entertainment, or design. If pressed, 20  th  century will do. 22  nd  century, according to Chairman of the Governors Ian Chesterton, is completely unacceptable and will not suffice. When asked what has kept him looking 30 years old since the 1960s, Mr. Chesterton ignored me and walked off. I guess we’ll never know the answer, listeners. I guess we’ll never know.

 **Friday** : The week will close with a fitting end; the unveiling of a new Greggs inside school. This Greggs will be in direct competition with the Greggs near April MacLean’s house – you know, the violinist? – affectionately called Shit Greggs by the student body; the Greggs near my house, not-so-affectionately called Actually Shitty Greggs by the student body; and the Greggs nearest to Coal Hill, which, of course, is referred to as Nicer Greggs.

Aiden has popped his head back in again. He says that he thinks that Greggs bakeries are actually rapidly multiplying aliens. That’s why there are over 1,760 outlets across the UK. It’s a plausible theory. I, for one, welcome our new bakery overlords.

Now I really want Greggs.

* * *

 

A word from our sponsor:

‘ _Tired of normal life?_ _Sick_ _of day-to-day, back-to-back, never-ending, back-breaking work? Exhausted by the realization that you will never make any difference to the world, and universe at large? Finding yourself dozing off during lessons? Sleeping on the bus and missing your stop? Falling into unbreakable-_ _by-normal-means_ _comas whilst playing the latest video game? Tired? Tired? Are you tired? Well, then, at least revel in the fact that your smile will be brighter and whiter than ever when you wake up! Colgate_ _Anticavity Toothpaste. Switch on the Power of Freshness.’_

* * *

 

Ah – dear listeners, a piece of paper has been pushed under the door. One second.

A- _hem._

‘The Governors would like to issue a notice to the Year Eights about uniform. Specifically, the -Form part. If any of the Year Eights could take physical form – at least long enough to get registered – in the next week, it would be greatly appreciated. The Governors do admit that losing the entire Year Eight cohort on a visit to Milton Keynes last month was a slight oversight, but the joke has gone on for too long. Surely, not all of the Year Eights perished. Surely.’

Well, if you’re a Year Eight, consider this your warning.

I remember when I was in Year Eight – well, I didn’t specifically go to _this_ school, but still; the weekly alien invasions on Bannerman Road were quite similar to the experiences we’re all sharing now, I would think. And I was given a great piece of advice about it. It went something like this:

“ _MY GOD! THE BEES! **NOT THE BEES!** ”_

I think we can all learn a little something from that.

* * *

 

Travel news: The storm swirls around you as you make your way outside. It’s careful, for a disturbed state of an environment or astronomical body’s atmosphere especially affecting it’s surface. Rain clouds swirl against you, gentle. As if it is afraid to touch you. Afraid what will happen if it does. The storm has lost many people, it conveys to you through the rumble. The storm will lose you. Lose you in itself. You revel in this information. You throw your arms wide, and you let the Oncoming Storm in. The galaxy breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe you will be the one to calm the storm. We can only hope.

And now, [the weather.](https://soundcloud.com/tomrosenthal1/asleep-on-a-train?in=tomrosenthal1/sets/b-sides)

* * *

 

Aiden. Either get in here or just leave. Stop poking your head in. You’re causing a draft. And the last time we had a draft the whole school had to be resurrected. I hardly remember that weekend. When I described it to my brother, Luke, he said it sounded like I’d been binge-drinking. He would know – he’s a university student.

Oh, alright.

‘The Governors would like to remind the student body – including the Year Eights, who haven’t made an appearance yet and it’s getting _quite_ silly – that the so-called ‘Bunghole Defence Squad’ need to drop what they’re doing immediately and carry on as normal.’

Then there’s just a bunch of squiggles. Well, it’s either that or a fairly abstract drawing of Benedict Cumberbatch.

They’re not naming names, but apparently the ‘Defence Squad’ is slacking behind on their A-Levels, and although saving London each week should, in this humble School Radio host’s opinion, grant them extra credit, it’s mentioned here on the other slip of paper that Aiden’s passed me that it ‘can’t be mentioned as “Work Experience” on your CV.’

I mean, there’s got to be a few exceptions to that, right?

Right? Like Tor –

Aiden, I’m not psychic.

Oh. I can’t mention UNIT or Torchwood on the air again? Who made up **that** rule?

Huh. Apparently, dear listeners, I’m not supposed to even know about them. And by order of Her Majesty the Queen (the real one, not the fake one), I have to stop talking about it. And you all need to be Retconned. Well, we all make mistakes! We’re all human! Apart from Charlie Smith, Miss Quill, the being that shares April MacLean’s – you know, the violinist? – heart, the janitor...

* * *

 

A few words before we finish.

The universe is so big. It’s so, so, **so** big. Like, massive. Humongous. Some other word for big. And we learn more stuff about it every day. Sometimes, that feels suffocating. You’re never going to be remembered. You’re not going to contribute to anything life-changing. And as you know, we’ll all be forgotten in the end. But think – without us, there would be no life-changing ideas or remembered people.

Mendeleev wouldn’t have figured out the right model for the periodic table without the people who stood day-in, day-out, making the playing cards which he later wrote the elements on in order to rearrange them. Famous composers would have never have written those symphonies we know and love (my favourite is the one that goes ' _ba ba ba BAAAA!'_ ) if the paper they originally wrote them on hadn’t been produced. Henry VIII wouldn’t have had so many wives if the people who built the church where he had got married decided to skive off that day and go down to the pub.

As you can probably guess, I don’t take History for A-Level.

But us nameless people are the reason that that very history exists. It’s true that the universe is immensely big. It’s filled with things _way_ beyond your imagination. And you’ve got to remember that the people that make it like that – that’s us.

And I think that’s quite beautiful.

Stay tuned for an hour of a looped recording of someone trying to lick their elbow.

Have a good day, Coal Hill.

Have a good day.

* * *

 

_Today’s proverb: 'An apple a day does not keep The Doctor away. If anything, it makes them more interested. Beware of apples.'_


End file.
